When The Storm Breaks
by writergirl2003
Summary: When Amber's life is disrupted by tragedy, she begins to realize that the world is much bigger than Baltimore. STORY ON HIATUS!
1. Death

I finally thought of a new full story idea, and all because of one single song lyric I heard! Yay!

But, this is a little different...more in the tone of "Fight Your Way Out" in the sense that it's more serious. I think it's going to turn out really well, and I hope you all find it interesting.

* * *

Amber had always heard it said that just before the deadliest part of the storm, there was a strange clearing; an eerie moment of silence that almost makes you believe everything will be all right. Seventeen-year-olds, however, don't put much thought into sayings that have been passed down for generations; there just never seems to be much of a need for it. Teenagers never assume that anything affects them; not injury, not sickness, and certainly _never_ death.

There had, however, been that moment of silence just before the storm. At least Amber had heard it. It had been right before their car collided with that tree; right before everything had gone dark. It had been a span of no more than three seconds, and all she'd been able to hear was the deafening whir of the tires before the metal crunch of the car, and the sickening thud of hearing Link slammed against the steering wheel. But, no, he couldn't have merely been pushed against the steering wheel. She must have blacked out at that moment, because no one dies from being knocked against the steering wheel of a car. Normal, healthy, seventeen-year-old boys do not _die_ from hitting their heads too hard against the steering wheel. At least that was how Amber saw it. She knew, in the deepest part of her heart, that Link had suffered a fate worse than that. In turn, she also knew that the doctors, nurses, even her mother, had sugarcoated the news for her. Well, as best as one _could_ sugarcoat the news of a boyfriend's death.

The first few days that she'd spent in the hospital after that alcohol-induced crash had been surreal; a band of men and women had worked around the clock tending to her. They changed her bandages, brought her food and drinks, and no one spoke of Link. Even as she woke to find Velma sobbing at her bedside, she hadn't had the courage to ask about him, and Velma had offered no information. A simple, mustered, "I'm sorry," was all Amber could manage, because inside, she knew exactly what had happened, and somehow, she knew it was her fault. She knew that they'd both been drinking, knew that she'd been distracting him, but she didn't know that he'd lost control of that car until it was too late. She couldn't have possibly known that his life, the life of a boy adored beyond measure, was about to come to a screeching halt.

Velma had waited until the night before Amber was set to leave the hospital, exactly three days after the wreck, to tell her that Link had been killed in that car, that dusty black bucket of bolts that he had been so fiercely proud of. Because Amber had known, in her heart, that he was dead all along, she cried, but did not sob. She wept, but did not lose herself in a state of hysterical bawling. She had cried for him a little each night in that hospital bed leading up to this moment, because she had known the truth. Seventeen-year-old girls are not clueless.

Velma had held her, and she had let herself shrink into her mother's arms, all while maintaining a sense of dignity that she herself did not quite understand. She couldn't quite comprehend how an accident that caused Link's death had done nothing more than break a few of her own bones and leave some scratches running along her forehead and cheeks. It was almost like a cruel game, and she had been the winner, or depending how you looked at it, the loser. Link was gone; he wouldn't be forced to replay that scene in his mind, over and over. He was at peace now, and Amber was the one left to suffer, the one left to blame for everything that had gone on.

It didn't seem real, at least not until she'd gone back to school the week after the accident. Until then, no one save herself had blamed her. No one had blatantly pointed a finger at her and told her that _she_ was the reason their Link was gone, not even Link's parents. She had hugged them, crying, apologizing, telling them that it wasn't _supposed_ to be this way, and they had comforted _her_, of all things. They had told _her_ that they were sorry, that it was a horrible thing _she_ had been forced to experience. They spoke with the wisdom and strength of parents who had lost their only son, and she had felt slightly better afterwards, after she realized that this pain didn't simply belong to her, it belonged to all of them.

The moment she walked into the halls at Patterson Park High school, however, an eerie silence had fallen over the students, and Amber recognized it immediately as the quiet before the storm. For most of that first day, that silence had followed her around the school. When she entered a classroom, clutching her books to her chest, those scratches on her forehead burning, the students fell silent, watching her with dark, heavy eyes as she made her way to her seat. These eyes, the ones that belonged to her peers, were not sympathetic, not understanding. These eyes were accusatory, demanding, hateful. These eyes were the ones that were blaming her for taking their Link from them. That shunning silence only lasted for one day, and by the time the school bells rang, the whispering had begun. The slurs, the hateful threats, the nasty rumors; there had been enough time between that wreck and now for each individual person to think of at least one horrible thing to say about her, at least one way to blame her for everything.

She could have told them that she hadn't _forced_ that alcohol down Link's throat; could have told them that she was no guiltier than any of them, because she knew for a fact that drinking and driving was a regular occurrence among them, especially with the council members. Wanted to tell them that they had simply gotten unlucky, and that Link, the one they had assumed was the most invincible of all, had actually proven mortality to all of them. They, of course, would not have listened, because the finger of blame had already been pointed. She had been the only other soul in the car that fateful evening, which, to them, proved her guilt.

And though she was nothing more than a victim of fate, the fact that Link's life had been taken and hers had been spared meant that she was infinitely responsible for what had happened that evening. But what others failed to realize was that, in so many ways, the moment that Link's life had ended, so had hers.


	2. Remorse

Ahhh I am liking this so far. Yes, I see this going good places. It's going to be very different and very interesting.

* * *

"I'm not the one paying to speak." It was honestly the last thing in the world that she felt like hearing, especially from an unfamiliar man. She wasn't exactly sure how this whole therapist thing worked, but the idea of her mother paying for her to spill her innermost secrets out to a man she'd never met before who was wearing glasses too small for his face made her slightly doubtful. She blinked twice, keeping her gaze blank and unattached to her surroundings.

"I'm not paying either," she spoke dryly, "My mother is." Stupidly, she assumed.

The man crossed and then uncrossed his legs.

"Okay, then. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" He glanced up at her, over the glasses, and she sat stoically, watching him. He raised his eyebrows at her, "Let's talk about what happened before the accident."

Before the accident, there was nothing to talk about. She had been the crowned princess of Baltimore, no battle wounds or emotional scars. Amber had never even had detention, and now, the weight of a lost life was on her shoulders.

"There is nothing before the accident," she told him suddenly, though still not entirely sure if she should be telling him anything at all. "I have nothing to say."

This, of course, wasn't true. She had nothing to say to _him_, this strange man, but she _did_ have things to say. She wanted to say that she was sorry, that she was stupid for allowing Link to get behind the wheel of that car when she _knew_ that they were both intoxicated. She wanted to say that she shouldn't have allowed her hand to slip teasingly up his neck, to let her fingers brush through that dark hair, to cause him to look at her in that moment. If she hadn't been whispering illicit, booze-induced promises to him in the dark of that car, he would have been paying attention, and his hands would have worked quicker to drag that steering wheel out of its ill-fated path.

"Okay, then," the man answered after a moment, then leaned forward a little. Amber did not move. "Then what about the accident? Tell me about that."

She sat without any show of emotion, no tears or physical breakdowns; she had been preparing herself for this moment for weeks, since Velma had told her about Link's death; the moment she knew she would be expected to tell a stranger her feelings. She finally glanced up at him, letting her eyes connect with his.

"There's nothing to tell. Link is dead, and I am not. Is there something about that fact that you're having difficulty understanding?" Of course she wasn't nearly as calm as she was forcing herself to pretend to be, but it was all she could do; pretend to be relatively normal, pretend to be a semblance of the girl she had been just weeks before. She crossed her arms over her chest; it was the only way she could effectively shut herself off any further from him. "I have nothing to say to you."

He sat silently across from her, then lowered his clipboard, still watching her.

"You paid for an hour of my time," he explained to her, his voice unsympathetic, "There are forty-seven minutes left in this session."

"My _mother_ paid for your time," she corrected him again suddenly, quickly grabbing her purse and books from the couch beside her and standing, her feet carrying her briskly to the door of the office, "So do me a favor, will you? When she asks, tell her that you've miraculously healed me in thirteen minutes, and take a paid lunch break." She bit her lip, throwing the door to the office open and letting her feet move her through the waiting room, attempting to carry herself with the pride and dignity that she'd maintained before all of this.

Her hands brushed over the counter that contained the receptionist, and she feigned a smile for the sake of the woman in the chair behind the desk.

"Hi," Amber sighed quickly, using her hand to brush a stray hair from her face, "Amber Von Tussle. I just got out of an appointment with Dr. Jacobs. Listen, can you do me a favor? Could you call my mother, Velma Von Tussle? Could you call her at work and tell her not to worry about sending a car for me? Tell her I'll walk to the studio. Her number is in my file, I'm sure." Amber was suddenly and inexplicably out of breath, and she waved her hand over a pile of manila folders splayed in front of the woman, as she nodded slowly.

"Sure, Miss Von Tussle." She gave Amber a polite smile, her fingers beginning to page through the files. Amber sighed softly, pushing away from the counter and letting her feet carry her through the office, down the stairwell, and into the streets of Baltimore. It was relatively warm for late February, and she didn't mind the occasional wind chill, anyway. She pulled her coat tighter around her and forced her feet to move. She was tired, exhausted, actually. Her head was aching, and though the few sprains she'd garnered had already begun to heal, there was a dull, aching pain in her knee when she walked. It didn't matter; aches and pains no longer meant anything to her. She had seen the flip side of that sprained ankle, and it was beyond anything she could have imagined.

She reached the studio nearly an hour later, slightly out of breath, wondering if the other council members would be surprised to see her here today. Yes, of course they would. They would watch her with those heavy eyes, go silent when she walked in front of them. None of them wanted to be seen associating with the girl who had inadvertently taken Link from them, and she couldn't help but think of the irony in this situation. If this had been reversed, if Link had been the one to walk away from that crash, she wondered if people would have revered him for it. She wondered if they would pat him on the back, tell him that he was a good, strong boy, and that it hadn't been his fault that Amber hadn't made it out alive. Surely, they would have mourned her death, if only for a little while, but things would go back to normal, and he'd be considered some sort of modern day saint. Even as she thought it, she felt guilty, knowing that he was gone, but she couldn't help feeling the slightest bit resentful at him even now. Still, she hadn't realized how intricate a part of her life he had been until now, until he was no longer here to keep things running smoothly.

That first morning she'd returned to school after her brief stay in the hospital, she'd sat at the window thoughtlessly for nearly thirty minutes, waiting for his car to roll around the corner, waiting for her ride from him. She'd felt her mother's bony fingers on her shoulders finally, and Velma had been the one to tell her, again, that he wasn't coming. Amber was dazed and confused for a moment, before the bitter truth hit her again, and every day since then, even though it had been weeks, a new, cruel reminder of her former life left her utterly speechless each day.

She'd forgotten her homework the first three days after school, because he hadn't been there to carry it for her. She couldn't remember if the equation in algebra needed to be added or subtracted, because they'd been in the middle of working on one of the problems, and she couldn't force her mind to pay attention in school. It was literally a life interrupted, and she couldn't help but hate herself a little more each day for that.

"Mother," Amber finally panted, when she made her way to Velma at the station, damp tendrils of her hair sticking to her cheeks, clutching her schoolbooks to her chest in the only way she knew how to protect herself, "I'm here. Did the receptionist give you my message?"

Velma furrowed her golden brows slightly at her daughter, making an effort to turn towards her, lowering the clipboard to her side.

"Amber," she assessed her quietly, her eyes focusing only on her daughter's flushed face, "Yes, she did, but are you quite certain you're ready to be here again?"

Amber blinked, then nodded.

"Yes, I'm certain." In actuality, she was anything_ but_. Still, she needed some part of her normal life back. She needed to pretend that she was still herself, even if she wasn't.

"I'd rather you didn't dance today," Velma informed her suddenly, though her voice was neither cruel nor unsympathetic. She swallowed, then moved closer to her daughter, her eyes inevitably brushing those deep scratches that marred the perfect skin on her forehead. "We changed some of the dances, to fit," she told her softly, "And I'm just not quite sure that you're as ready as you think you may be."

Amber stiffened slightly, letting the sting of her mother's words hit her like a slap in the face.

"But, I am," she insisted, her voice quivering even as she said the words.

"You may begin again next week," she told her gently, her hand casually brushing Amber's. "Being back in the studio is enough for you right now."

She wanted to push her on the topic, but suddenly no longer had the strength, and let her posture slouch, Velma's hand working up her back to curl around one of Amber's shoulders, directing her towards the slew of abandoned vanities that the other council members were not yet there to occupy.

"Be an observer for a while, Amber. You need to take a few steps back."

It was the first time her mother had ever said anything of the like to her, and she allowed herself to slump into the stool at her vanity, her shoulders drooping.

The council members began to file in a short time later, and just as she'd suspected, each fell silent when their eyes brushed over her immobile form. She didn't try to smile at any of them, or to make casual conversation, because she had no desire to. She wanted things to be normal again, yes, but obviously, thinking these people had ever been her friends was a grave misassumption. They avoided her like a plague as she sat stoically on her stool, hands folded into her lap. They also knew that she had left school early that day, and she'd heard the whispers as she'd made her way towards the front office. Somehow they had known about her appointment with the psychiatrist, and they wouldn't pretend not to for the sake of what little was left of her sanity.

She managed to block them out; their looks, their words, even their silence, and forced her eyes to focus on that soundstage, her throat nearly constricting at the moment that she saw him. He wasn't expecting her to be here today; he probably had never expected to see her again, but she'd been waiting for him. She'd been planning and thinking about the things she needed to say to him for some time, and twisted her fingers together in her lap.

She wondered if, deep inside of him, he felt any of the same guilt she did. She wondered, even though neither of them could have possibly known Link's fate, if there was a deep, stabbing pain in the pit of his stomach when he had heard about Link, knowing what he knew. Knowing that Corny himself had been carrying on a flirting, albeit not completely harmless, game behind Link's back with Amber herself.

She let her eyes stare Corny down; what she wanted more than anything was for him to make eye contact with her, so that she may test the depths of his soul. She wanted to see into those eyes, needed to know if there was a reason she should feel so infinitely guilty for so many things besides Link's death.

And then, as if on cue, their eyes met, if only for a second. His blue eyes met hers, and she expected to see in him what she saw in her own mirrored reflection. She expected to see remorse, guilt, perhaps even an apology for the twisted game they had been playing while she'd been promising herself to Link.

Instead, she saw just what she had feared she'd see. His look was blank, almost as if he didn't recognize her, and after a moment, he had turned away. That was it. Without even speaking, he had told her that he didn't feel guilty. He wasn't sorry that he'd been fooling around with the now dead boy's girlfriend, and in fact looked to have forgiven himself for that very thing.

Amber realized again, and for what seemed like the infinite time, that she had no one to share her guilt with. It only cemented the fact that she was in this ride alone; trapped beneath her own remorse just as she'd been pinned between her seat and the dashboard in that car, resting unconsciously next to Link's lifeless body.

And even now, with Link's casket buried just beneath the grassy knoll on the east side of the cemetery across town, she still felt him here, right beside her, his arms wrapped around her slender waist, his breath against her neck. Suddenly, at the recurring thought of him, she sucked her breath in with a deep sob, her stomach tensing as she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly. She finally remembered what happened _just_ before everything had gone dark.

Her fingers _had_ been in his hair, her lips against his right ear, whispering dirty, meaningless promises to him. Things that she would never have done, but let herself consider once the liquor began to course through her veins. Even through the fuzziness of the alcohol, she could remember them now, could remember the things she'd told him, and remembered the last time she'd ever heard that smooth, silky voice of his speak to her.

"God, Amber," he had said the words with a soft chuckle, and she had pulled his head to look at her, as she had done so many times before, their eyes locking before she pulled away just slightly from him. He had smirked at her, never removing his eyes from hers, before using his last breath on her, gently chastising her for her playful, foolish actions.

"You're going to be the death of me, girl."


	3. Anger

Hey everyone! Just wanted to clear something up.

Just because Corny is in this story does not mean it's a "fluffy" romance story. There is no fluff involved.

I know how to deal with the drama and angst of a story without making my characters do the same thing over and over.

Enjoy.

* * *

Dancing hurt her feet, her back, and made her head spin. Her mother had been right, though she would never admit that to another living soul. The fact was, Amber no longer enjoyed this; this show, this life. Every twist, every turn, they reminded her of Link, reminded her of the way he had rocked her in his arms, the times he had dropped her. Even with those thoughts, she couldn't hate him, or remember him with ill intentions. Each time the council would gather to hear one of its members sing, she would drop her eyes to the floor, let the tears begin to well, and remember when it had been his voice. She would remember when she'd been too distracted looking at Corny, teasing him flirtatiously behind Link's back as he crooned those love songs dedicated to her, and knew that she should have let herself listen to the words in those songs. They may have taught her something about forgiveness, redemption, or what it meant to feel loved by another person. 

She had no partner; her mother managed to choreograph enough solo dances to satisfy the allotted camera time Amber was given, but there were still moments of inevitability when a slow song would arise. The spotlight fell on Tammy and Fender now, and Amber let herself blend into the darkness with the remaining council members, swaying back and forth as she pushed silent tears from her cheeks, lowering her head in a mixture of shame and respect for Link. And though she hated those slow dances (in actuality she hated _all_ of the dances) she was fine to blend in with the background. It was better than being in front of the crowd alone.

And though Amber hated dancing alone, her mother managed to, somehow unconsciously, find the only possibly way to make her any unhappier.

"Corny, you're going to be dancing with Amber today." The words had been a direct order to the man, and he glanced quickly at her, his eyes dark suddenly. His eyes met Amber's for a second, before she looked away guiltily. He sighed, taking a step closer to the elder Von Tussle woman.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Velma." His voice was low and firm and he dipped his head as he spoke to her.

She arched her eyebrows at him, blinking at him, and Amber watched their sudden confrontation, clenching her hands into fists. Her mother didn't know about them. She didn't realize that, at one time, they _had_ danced; an intimate, excruciating close _dance_ that had Amber almost completely nude before she'd realized that it was wrong to be doing this with him. His fingers had _danced_ over her skin, his lips had _danced_ across the hollow base of her throat. They had been involved in a dangerous tango for far longer than Velma could have possibly known, and neither of them had spoken, much less _danced_ together since Link had been killed.

"Oh, don't you? Well, _I _don't think it's a good idea for a man to wear as much purple as you do, but obviously, you're ignorant to that fact." She surveyed his suit carefully, then took a step closer to him. "You are going to dance with my daughter on television this afternoon. You may want to take advantage of this offer, Corny, it's the only time you'll be able to hold any girl as beautiful as Amber in your arms." She spun on her heels without waiting for a reply from him, her fingers lightly brushing over Amber's shoulders as she passed her.

"You'll be dancing with Corny today, darling. Let me know if he gets grabby."

Amber sucked her breath in, attempting to call out for her as she strode away, but finding herself without a voice. Her hands were suddenly clammy, and her stomach felt sick. She couldn't do this. She could not dance with this man; the one person who knew the cruel games they had played in spite of Link, the one who, more than anyone, should have been willing to give her any type of comfort at this moment in time, and had done nothing but shun her relentlessly.

Slow dances were never rehearsed; there was no need, because all of the council had memorized how and when to move their feet, and for this, Amber was grateful. This meant that they would only have to be in such close proximity of each other for three minutes at the most, and even that was too long for Amber's tastes.

She managed to get through The Stricken Chicken with a forced smile upon her features, and clapped politely as the tempo slowed and the lights began to dim. With all the gallantry of a god, Corny glided down from his place at the podium, making a gracious show of extending his hand to Amber in front of the camera, as the other council members smiled softly, pretending to be touched by his actions. Pretending that they actually gave a shit whether or not Amber had a dance partner, or whether she lived or died. He smiled brilliantly at her, and she had no choice but to slip her fingers into the palm of his hand as he pulled her to his chest, his arms slipping effortlessly around her waist as he began to rock instinctively to the music.

She stiffened in his hold, but he pretended not to notice. He held his head high, his teeth clenched together in what Amber had come to recognize as the fakest smile she'd ever seen, and kept his head turned away from her, towards the camera. She let herself look away from him, her heart pounding in her chest, the smell of his cologne invading her nostrils and making her feel ill. She could remember that scent from so many nights with him, nights where they'd gone further than she should have, but still hadn't gone all the way. Nights she told Link she'd been rehearsing, when she'd been in his bed, on his couch, any place as long as it was with _him_. Simply being around him now caused her more physical pain than she'd even endured in that wreck.

"So noble of you to step in now," she finally found the courage to speak to him, and he tilted his head towards her, that insincere grin still plastered across his face.

"What was that, Amber?" He was using his host's voice; the one he used to announce the new dances and songs on the show.

She blinked, still watching his face, wanting nothing more than to pull away from his grasp, though she knew she couldn't. Her eyes darted to her mother, who was watching her with a satisfied smirk. Velma believed she was fine, and that was a beginning to the charade she was being forced to play.

"You heard me," her words were a challenge, and she saw it in his face. The muscles in his jaw tensed slightly, and he turned her slightly, so that the back of her head was to the camera, his head lowering so that he could speak to her without being seen by the lens.

"Listen, I have nothing to give to you," he told her, his eyes finally meeting hers, hard and cold.

"What about sympathy?" She shot back, her voice fierce suddenly, "A little God-damn loyalty would be nice, too."

His smile faded into an ugly smirk, his eyes narrowing at her.

"You're one to speak about loyalty, aren't you?" He demanded, his voice still quiet, "I bet Link thought you were _real_ loyal, Amber. I guess loyalty and stupidity go hand in hand."

Her lips parted as a small gasp escaped her, and she took a step back, interrupting the solemn atmosphere and she used her hands to push away from him, her blue eyes locked on his.

"How dare you," she said the words quietly to him, not above her normal speaking voice. No one could have possibly heard her, save him, but the other council members began to look toward them suspiciously, their eyes wide and nervous at the unexpected break in character from her.

"Amber," he put on a fake smile again now, extending his hand towards her valiantly, his eyes pleading silently with her not to cause a scene. "Dance with me."

She shook her head slowly, her feet moving backwards.

"No. I don't want to dance with you, Corny." She turned suddenly, her eyes making contact with Velma's confused gaze through the crowd of cameras and workers. "I'm sorry, Mother, I can't-" she gasped suddenly, choking on a sob that she was determined to hold down, "I can't dance with him. I can't dance anymore."

She let herself break into a run, then, her heels clicking against the floor at such a quick rate that she herself was surprised she didn't trip and go sprawling across the smooth cement face first.

She knew her face would soon be a mess of mascara and concealer, but she was beyond caring. She was beyond thinking that anyone was looking at her for what was beneath that make-up; they saw her as ugly and disgusting, no matter how beautiful she looked.

She collapsed in a crumpled heap at her vanity, listening to the sound of Corny's voice as he attempted to cover for her behavior, offering a kind-hearted, "I'd say that's pretty good considering what she's been through, folks," to the cameras. She sobbed against her arms, black smudges covering the skin there as she took each deep, gasping breath. She cried for another moment, then sat up slowly, studying her vanity and the bottles of perfume and make-up brushes that covered its surface. She brushed them off and onto the floor angrily, not caring that the clattering could surely be heard on the soundstage.

She heard Corny began to speak again then, and gritted her teeth, narrowing her eyes at her own reflection.

"I hate you." The words were cold and low, and though she knew they were meant for Corny, she also knew that, in the deepest part of her heart, she was speaking to that stupid, selfish girl that looked back at her from the mirror.


	4. Redemption

I was going to put something here to continue arguing my point, but I decided against it.

Please enjoy.

* * *

"You know, this song reminds me of you," Link's fingers motioned toward the car radio, and they worked on the volume knob, turning it up slightly before he looked at Amber, his eyebrows arched, his lips moving along with the song.

"_Roses are red, my love_," he sang along with the lyrics, never removing his eyes from her, the fire of alcohol's effect burning in his eyes as he did his best Bobby Vinton. "_Violets are blue…sugar is sweet, my love, but not as sweet as you_."

Amber swallowed the heavy lump of guilt in her throat, and slapped him on the arm playfully.

"Link," she chastised him, though it had been easy to smile at that moment, because he wasn't dead yet, because she wasn't being suffocated by guilt and pain. "You're terrible."

"What?" He asked, his voice shrill and slightly slurred from the drink, "I mean it, Amber. You're as sweet as sugar, darlin'."

"Oh, yes," she rolled her eyes dramatically at him as they cascaded down that twisting road in his car, "I bet everyone else would agree with you on that one."

He shrugged a little, snaking his arm around her and pulling her close; that one action that had inspired her to begin to whisper those words into his ear, the action that sealed both of their fates.

"I don't really care what everyone else says about you," his voice was serious and meaningful suddenly, and she lifted her head, their eyes meeting in the dark car, "None of them know you like I do."

She stared at him, silently for a moment. In reality, this had been the moment when she'd opened her mouth to tell him about Corny, and the games they'd been playing behind his back. She'd had every intention of doing it; telling him the whole truth and nothing but, except suddenly, and at the last moment, she stopped herself. Why should she ruin this perfect moment between them? In reality, this had been the moment when she'd let her hand sneak onto his leg, when she'd let her lips press to his ear, and promised him a special treat once they got to their destination.

However, this wasn't reality; this was a dream. Amber realized it suddenly, but she couldn't stop her dream-self from opening her mouth, and saying the words.

"I've been cheating on you, Link."

Dream-Link turned to her, his eyes narrowed into a look of pain and confusion, his arm slipping from around her. It happened almost in slow-motion; his other hand let go of the wheel, and it started to turn. Amber panicked, and reached out to steady it, but instead of straightening it out, her hands yanked it, and the car jerked. There was that deafening squeal again, and just before the sound of metal colliding with that tree, she heard his voice, though it was deep and unfamiliar.

"This is all your fault, Amber."

She started to scream at him, but it was too late. Just before the car smashed into the tree, she was jolted awake, and knew immediately that she'd been crying. Her face was hot and sticky, she was trembling. She sat up with a jolt, curling her legs against her chest and burying her face, letting herself cry for a moment.

It wasn't the first time she'd had a dream like that. In fact, it wasn't the first time she'd had _that_ dream. She'd been having snippets of it for the last few nights, when she managed to fall asleep. The first time, it had lasted only long enough for her to hear Link sing that song to her. The second, it had gone only a few seconds longer. As she sat huddled on the couch, gasping for her breath, she realized it was the first time it had gone this far.

Of course that wasn't how it had actually happened. He _had_ sang that song to her, and said those words, but when she'd opened her mouth, she'd used her voice to whisper dirty things into his ear, not confess her sins. He hadn't looked at her with such pain in his face, hadn't let go of the steering wheel. It was just her mind playing tricks on her when her dream-self had reached out and jerked that wheel, just a cruel trick when she'd heard him say, "This is all your fault, Amber."

Except, of course, it wasn't, because it _was_ all her fault, whether Link had realized it or not.

There was a sudden, disorienting knock on the door, and she blinked, a quiet gasp escaping her as she tried to subdue her tears. She glanced at the clock, then peered outside through a window. It was dark already. Her mother must have still been at work. Ever since Amber had literally run off camera a little over a week ago, she'd been staying later at the studio, no doubt to audition new girls (and boys) to replace Amber and Link. Amber had tried to apologize, and though Velma had been slightly concerned about Amber's slight breakdown in front of the cameras, it had been the highest rated broadcast for some time, and even if she wouldn't admit it to Amber, that pleased Velma.

She used the back of her hand to wipe the tears and smeared make-up from her face, then pushed herself from the couch, letting her dress straighten itself as she walked to the front door, pulling it open.

He stood looking at her, his eyes narrowed when they fell upon her face. She swallowed, then crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at him in return.

"What are you doing here? I don't want to see you."

Corny shook his head, looking past her.

"Don't flatter yourself, Amber. I'm not looking for you. I'm looking for that slave-driver of a mother of yours. I've been ringing the house, and she hasn't answered."

_That_ may have been because Amber had taken the phone off the hook before her disrupted nap. She shook her head, pursing her lips.

"She's not here." Her feet stayed planted on the ground, and he studied her for a moment.

"Fine. I'm leaving, then." He spun on his heels to go, and, just as she hadn't been able to stop her fingers in that dream, she could not stop the words that spilled from her mouth at that moment.

"How can you not even care that Link's dead?" Tears had began to prick at her eyes, and she blinked, staring at the back of his head before he turned slowly, watching her. He kept his eyes focused on her, but made no effort to move closer or further away. "Link _admired_ you, Corny. You were his role-model."

He moved closer to her suddenly, dipping his head.

"You have _no idea_ what's going on inside my head, Amber, so stop pretending you do." He leaned closer to her, then shook his head, "You're so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you don't ever think anyone else has feelings."

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it," she challenged him.

"Oh, please. I went to his funeral, his memorial; I've kept his memory alive on the show. Don't _tell _me about what I haven't done."

He turned on his heels to go, and Amber crossed her arms over her chest, the tears burning her eyes now as they involuntarily began to slip down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily and followed him onto the porch, stomping her foot. Yes, it was childlike and immature, but she was broken inside. She was so desperate for some sort of comfort that it was too late to keep herself from saying the words to him.

"You haven't comforted me!" And she knew it was a stupid, selfish thing to say. Link was dead and buried in the ground, and she was complaining because the man she'd been cheating on her boyfriend with hadn't so much as spoken a nice word to her in weeks. Still, if there was one thing Amber Von Tussle was, it was irrational.

He looked at her strangely for a moment, as if the idea had never crossed his mind, but made no attempt to move. She hugged herself, willing her tears to stay at bay.

"You haven't even _tried_ to make me feel better about any of this! You _know_ more than anyone why I feel so guilty, and you don't even care! I _know_ Link's gone, and I _know_ it's my fault, and I just-I can't deal with it! I don't know what to do, Corny. I just need somebody to shake me and tell me that I'm _not_ the one to blame for his death. I-" she gasped, and cried silently for a moment, unable to look at him, "I need someone to love me."

He stood silently for what seemed like years, Amber looking away from him. He took a step closer to her, and Amber noticed that he was bunching his hands into fists at his side. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, though not necessarily kind.

"Amber…" he swallowed, then finally tilted her head up to his, watching her eyes. "I warned you about this when we first started." His face was serious, but her eyes stayed locked on his, "I told you not to get like this, remember? Not to expect more than I can give you?"

She nodded dumbly then, her face flushing, and she let her eyes close. She could imagine, just for a moment, that those fingers on her chin belonged to Link. That would make this so right; it would help her so much.

"And do you know why I told you that?" His voice was still low, but he was closer to her now. She shook her head, letting herself look at him again.

"Why?" Her voice was dry, littered with hope and guilt and remorse.

He studied her for another moment.

"Because there's only one way I know how to love you, Amber, and it's not with my heart." His brows were furrowed, and she looked up at him. Suddenly, she knew his words were an invitation; she could take this love, transform it into something else, and accept it. She could let herself be with him tonight, close her eyes, pretend it was Link, pretend that this was the way it was supposed to be.

And though she knew she should have smacked his hands away from her, she no longer had the strength, and she pushed herself onto her tip-toes, pressing her lips against his suddenly. His hands went to the small of her back as he kissed her.

She had begun the twisted game again, despite the fact that she knew she could not win.

Sometime in the next few minutes, he had carried her into the house, pushed her onto the couch. His mouth was on her neck, her lips, her shoulders. His fingers were dragging down the zipper of her dress, pushing the silky fabric from her thin frame, and she let herself rest against the couch, her eyes fluttering open only long enough to arch her back, to help him pull her dress off.

In a moment, she was down to her slip, and she felt his hands leave her body for only a moment, and she opened her eyes, watching as he began to work at the buttons of his own shirt. She knew she should have reached out and undone each one for him, but she wasn't interested. She wanted nothing more than to be held by him, and yet, she knew she would give him so much more than that tonight. Well, she had asked him for love, and he was obliging her the only way he knew how. She had led him to believe that this was okay, when she knew, more than anything, that it was not.

"Amber," he sighed her name as he kissed her skin, as his fingers began to push the straps of her slip down, and he kissed the creamy skin on her chest. She tilted her head back, sighed softly, but would not allow herself to say his name. That would make all of this too surreal, and would cement the fact that she was doing this with Link so fresh on her mind.

Link. Yes, that was it. She would pretend he was Link. This was Link's head dipping between her breasts, Link's hands running up the length of her legs, slowly pushing them apart, Link's breath in her ear. And then, just as she heard the sound of his zipper, the sensation of knowing that in just another second, he would literally be inside of her, there was another sound.

It took her a moment before she recognized it as the sound of keys in the door, and the creak of the door as it opened, but it was too late. Velma stood, her eyes large and damning as Corny pulled away from Amber quickly, attempting to fix himself. Velma, however, was no idiot. She had seen enough to know, and all three of them knew that. Any other woman may have been too stunned by this sudden and unwelcome surprise upon returning home, but Velma Von Tussle was not any other woman. Her feet carried her across the wooden floor quickly, her heels clipping the ground as she walked. Before even directing her attention to Corny, she bent, grabbed Amber's slip, and threw it to her. Amber pulled it over her head hurriedly, crossing her arms over her chest, her face flushed a deep crimson. Her mother had caught her making out with boys before, but not like this; completely naked.

She spun on Corny suddenly, glaring at him. His cheeks were pink, but he attempted to give her a self-satisfied smirk as she narrowed her icy blue gaze at him. Even as he tried to remain indignant, Amber could see in his eyes that he knew his career was over.

"I told you to _dance_ with her, you ignorant asshole, not _fuck_ her!"

"Velma, I-" Amber knew he was attempting to sell her out. She didn't blame him, not one bit, and also knew he would not get the chance to do so.

"Your words have no meaning here, Corny. You're fired, now get the hell out of my house, and stay away from my daughter. I swear to God, if you so much as _look_ at her again, I'll have you for rape."

There was silence between the three of them for a moment. Corny's hard glare met Amber, but he turned away from her. She knew she should have said something. She should have told Velma that she was the one who had started it, that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened between them, but Velma couldn't possibly understand. She'd just caught Baltimore's biggest television personality standing in between the legs of her seventeen-year-old daughter. That spoke volumes to her.

Corny was gone a moment later, and Velma turned back to Amber, her eyes narrowed.

"What in God's name do you think you can find in him, Amber?" Her voice was shrill and high-pitched.

Amber watched her silently for a moment, then shook her head.

"I…I don't know."

Velma laughed a little, sardonically.

"Don't tell me you think he loves you."

"No," she replied, her voice quiet, "I know he doesn't."

"And you don't think you love him." Her words were not a question.

"No," Amber said again, knowing her words were true, "I don't love him."

Velma stood watching her, then sighed after a moment.

"You didn't let him, did you?"

Amber knew what she was referring to, and shook her head slowly.

"No, I didn't."

"Good," Velma said after a moment, "It would have been the biggest mistake of your life, Amber. Trust me." She swallowed, then turned to walk into her bedroom, her gaze slightly unaffected. "Straighten this room up and then get to bed."

Amber nodded obediently, her heart still pounding in her chest.

Velma began into her bedroom, then stopped, and turned.

"You miss Link." Velma's words were a statement, and Amber nodded, tears pricking her eyes.

"Terribly."

Velma nodded once, then held her head high.

"Well, you won't find him in Corny. I can assure you of that." She blinked, then continued her path to the bedroom, "Corny is out of our lives now, Amber. You won't allow yourself to be tempted by him any longer."

"No, I won't," Amber replied softly, listening as she heard her mother's bedroom door shut.

It was only later, after what may have been the most helpful conversation she'd ever had with Velma, that she realized the only path to her redemption was the one that led her out of Baltimore.


	5. Beginning

Gah, I'm so sorry! I know it's been practically forever since I've updated, and I do apologize. I had, in fact, thought that I'd simply be done with this story, and never finish it, but I've had a lot of people encouraging me to finish, so I'm going to try! I've come so far, and I can't stop now. I will get better about updating, and I hope you all are still interested in reading!

* * *

Link's death took a while to get used to, and even then, over a year after the accident, Amber wasn't completely sure she had accepted it. Sure, she knew he was gone, and had visited his grave site several times. She'd found herself kneeling just beside the grassy knoll, tears burning in her eyes as she read those sprawling numbers etched into his tombstone just below his name: _1945-1962_. Seventeen was just too young to die, and as Amber studied the number _18_ on the birthday card she got from her mother that next year, she couldn't help but remember Link. Link would never have this, an eighteenth birthday. He'd never have the opportunity to go to college, though he had always wanted to. It had been one of the many secrets he and Amber had shared. Everyone expected him to head for the hills of Hollywood the day after high school graduation, and only Amber knew that he'd had college plans; he would major in music, perhaps dance, maybe even theatre. They'd always laughed at the looks they knew he'd get when he told everyone that he wasn't headed to Hollywood, or Broadway. Then, it had seemed like such a big, important plan. Now, Amber merely recognized it as childish foolishness.

Baltimore had changed drastically in the last year and a half. Corny had disappeared from town nearly a week after the incident that had occurred between them. The council girls wondered, and she had always heard them speculate about his sudden disappearance in the halls at school, but never allowed them any information. More for her sake than his own. They had already considered her a murderer; there was no reason for them to know that she had practically begged him to have sex with her, if only so she could feel some perverse form of acceptance from someone. Though she knew that nicknames and reputations didn't stick to a person long after high school, she couldn't take her chances. It was possible to shun a person, whether it be in the halls of a school, or the streets of a city. Amber didn't need another reason to be shunned, and managed to stay to herself through the next years of school, and until graduation.

High school graduation. The day Amber had slipped on that black robe and adjusted the cardboard hat on her head, she thought of Link. She thought of the way he would have smiled as he walked down that aisle to accept his diploma. The way he would have clutched the rolled paper in his head, grinning crookedly at her. The way they had always said that they'd celebrate together, that night. Once, Link had even hinted that on their graduation night, he'd propose to her. Of course she couldn't be sure if he'd been serious or not, but as she returned to her house that evening, no longer a high school student, she couldn't help but wonder if his words had been the truth.

Naturally, Velma had become concerned about Amber's future plans around the start of her senior year, and since Amber no longer expressed interest in singing or dancing, she couldn't comprehend any type of future for her. Amber knew that wasn't entirely Velma's fault, as looks and talent were all that Velma really deemed necessary for success, so she forced herself to be patient with her mother's often time consuming questions about her future.

To Amber, however, her future was no question. She had known from the moment Link had died what she would do. She would go to college, if mostly (though not solely) for him. He had always encouraged her to further her education, and when she'd doubted whether or not she'd wanted to, he'd told her they could go to college together, eat lunch on the green lawns, share an apartment. To Amber, that had been a dream come true. Still, and though she knew that now, she would be living a different kind of dream, she had to go through with the promise she'd made to him.

Velma had been slightly shocked, though not unsupportive, when she'd told her of the plans. Amber had been researching colleges in a catalog that she'd privately ordered; one she'd stuffed under her bed until after she heard her mother's bedroom door close for the night, and would then study meticulously by flashlight. She'd managed to narrow it down to a few choices; all schools on the east coast. She'd allowed herself to muse for a while about going to college in California, but knew that the sun and sand would interfere with her studies, and therefore would distract her from the real reason she was there, aside from higher education: to honor Link's memory.

After a few months of indecisiveness, she decided to choose Emmanuel College, a small, all-female university in Boston, Massachusetts. She applied for acceptance in mid-November and waited anxiously through the holiday season for the letter than finally came on a mild day in February. With trembling hands and a knot in her stomach, she slid her finger through the slit in the envelope and took the paper out carefully.

She had been accepted; in so many words, the paper told her that she had officially been given the chance to start over; to escape from Baltimore and everything that she had been subjected to for the past year. For the first time since that wreck, she had cried for another reason than pure grief or sorrow. When Velma came home that evening and found her crying on the couch, she'd had no choice but to tell her everything. The college catalog, her decision, her promise to Link. For once, she'd held nothing back, and after a moment of what Amber could only perceive as stunned silence from her mother, she'd walked out of the room, returning a moment later with her checkbook and an inquiry about the cost of tuition.

And so, it was with written words that Amber's life changed once again. The signing of Velma's name on that thin piece of paper guaranteed her a new beginning. That, more than anything, was exactly what Amber needed.

It wasn't difficult to say goodbye to Baltimore; not like what Amber may have expected. She didn't cry when she thought about the life she'd had here, and how good it had been before that accident. She didn't let herself think about the fact that she would be, essentially, alone in a whole new world. Sure, she'd have a roommate in her dorm, but she had never met the girl before, and knew that it would take time before she allowed herself to confide in any other person.

She did allow herself to cry, though, when she knelt at that polished rock that bore Link's name, knowing it could very well be the last time she would be here, with him. She stroked it gently, the cool marble glistening in the sun, kissed two fingers, and placed them directly upon his engraved name.

"I love you, Link," she whispered the words into the air, "I always will." They were better than the words he had left _her_ with. She stayed for only a moment longer before returning to the car. Velma drove her directly to the train station and bid her farewell. She gave her a stiff hug, though even Amber could begin to feel Velma's posture sink as she pulled away.

"Keep your head on, Amber." Her mother's strong words called out to her as she began to board the train. She turned to Velma, and nodded obediently.

"I will, Mother."


End file.
